Scylla and Charybdis
by Spitfireness
Summary: Wherein we discover Ana Espinosa, sub rosa Sarkney shipper. COMPLETE.
1. Uno

Title: Scylla and Charybdis  
  
Author: Nes (lochmoninov@yahoo.com)  
  
Distribution: Ask and I'll say yes.  
  
Summary: Sydney is caught between a hard place and Sark's ex-girlfriend. Er, not that hard place. Ahem.  
  
Notes: This takes place vaguely after The Passage, Part One. Sark is working at SD-6, they're colleagues! Yay!  
  
Inspiration: This fic was inspired (with permission) by Julia's Evo fic, "That Ball and Chain."  
  
Sydney Bristow was stealing for Sloane and, for once, doing so with joy in her heart.  
  
Why? Well, for one thing the compact disc was not related to Rambaldi. Good old Milo had neither created, hidden, nor ever dreamed the images embedded into the plastic round. The files would be used to blackmail Joseph Gould, a prominent Chicago attorney, but more importantly, also an up-and-comer in the Alliance. Furthermore, the CIA had not created a countermission for her; they were more than relieved to have Sloane remove Gould. Jack and Sydney were in a position to cripple SD-6; there had been no similar insertions into the Chicago organization, and also the added menace of Gould's ties with the city's major crime families. The CIA preferred to keep the players on their field familiar leaving Sydney able to do a job for Sloane and her country at the same time.  
  
It was a warm, giddy feeling and one that she had not felt since she had learned the truth about SD-6. Despite all the betrayals, she liked being a spy. She was good, and it was fun.  
  
She successfully completed copying the disk and decided to reevaluate her previous statement. Though the job was only two-thirds complete, it was almost over and there had not been any unexpected obstacles. Clockwork. I'm not just good at my job; I am a spying badass. A grin spread across her face at the boast; there was no drug like adrenaline.  
  
"I do so love it when you smile," the purr quivered against her earlobe and pushed warm breath over her skin.  
  
That was not my communicator.  
  
She spun, grabbed the man's shoulders and slammed him into the floor. His head bounced against the mahogany floors twice.  
  
Sark only looked up at her, eyes shining and face mischievous. "Why, Sydney- "  
  
She cut him off, "What are you doing here, Sark?" In an effort to convince him to talk, she tightened the grip of her knees against his sides and dug in sharply.  
  
"Sloane sent me."  
  
"Bullshit. This is a simple op."  
  
"Maybe dear, avuncular Arvin doesn't trust you to get it done."  
  
For that little dig, Sydney punched him in the stomach.  
  
His response came in a very satisfying wheeze, "Or maybe he was worried. He wanted me to keep you safe, watch your back. It is a very nice back to watch."  
  
"Save it," she snarled. "And don't you dare smirk at me."  
  
He kept his face blank, as per her command. She reached for the gun at her waist, "I'm going to let you up. Don't try anything."  
  
Predictably, Sark tried something. He kicked the gun out of her hand and sent it spinning to the other side of the room. She was ready, and executed a series of roundhouse kicks to his shoulder, side, and groin. Without flinching, he grabbed her ankle and twisted hard so that she fell. He followed with a hit to her chest, but Sydney blocked and grabbed his wrist. Sark reversed the hold and held her in front of him, one arm locked around her neck. Straining to breathe, Sydney smashed the glass paperweight she had grabbed from the desk against Sark's face and he pushed her away.  
  
She stood back to catch her breath, moving to put the desk between them. "Why are you here? You want the disk, don't you," she accused.  
  
"Gould is useful to me where he is," Sark answered. Rivulets of blood streamed down his left cheek, where he'd been gashed. "Jesus, Sydney, did you have to use the glass paperweight? The metal one would one only have bruised."  
  
"I knew it, I knew it! You're betraying SD-6, you bastard."  
  
"Fine words coming from you," he threw back. "What's the countermission this time?"  
  
Before she could retort, Sark launched himself across the table at her. Sydney managed to move out of the way. He landed in a crouch across from her. She waited for him to uncoil.  
  
She didn't have to wait long. In a second, he kicked her into the desk and repeatedly crashed her face against the computer's keyboard. This time, she grabbed the copper paperweight and smashed it into his kidney.  
  
"Damnit, Sydney, I wasn't making a request!" His breath came in sharp gasps.  
  
"And I'd like to keep my full head of hair." Dressed for theft, Sydney had opted to forego her usual wig.  
  
He had the grace to look sheepish as he realized long strands of Sydney's hair were caught in his fist, but that didn't stop Sydney from punching him in the mouth.  
  
"I'm sending you my bill for cosmetic surgery," he warned as he barely blocked her drive at his left eye.  
  
"Shut up and fight me, pretty boy," she bristled as she tried for the other eye.  
  
"I assure you, Sydney," Sark said as he lashed out with his booted foot, sending her chin up with a crack. "All of my considerable powers of concentration are devoted to you."  
  
Massaging her jaw with her hand, Sydney answered, "That's so sweet."  
  
He punctuated the end of her sentence with a blow to her stomach. Sydney doubled over and barely dodged his foot thrusting at her chest.  
  
They were both breathing heavily now, but Sydney could feel her second wind coming on. She found fighting Sark was both emotionally and physically satisfying. It was infinitely more rewarding than kicking the ass of random strangers.  
  
She lunged, but he was ready. He stepped back, and then swept a foot out to trip her. He straddled her on the floor and held her both hands above her head in a secure grip.  
  
"We have to stop meeting this way." His face was so close his mouth grazed her lips.  
  
"You want to stop? All you have to do is die." She tried to knee him, but his legs held her down firmly.  
  
"Now, Sydney-," he stopped suddenly, distracted by her wiggling beneath him. She took advantage of the diversion by pushing him off.  
  
She stood and they faced each other, circling slowly. Sydney eyed the window behind Sark. They were only on the second floor. If she could just grab the disc off the desk-  
  
Sark caught her eye. His voice turned smoky and intense, "We shouldn't be fighting, Sydney."  
  
"What? Are you gonna just give me the disc?" She looked at him incredulously. He took the opportunity to step closer.  
  
His eyes were hypnotizing, and Sydney found she couldn't look away. He extended his hands, closed the space between them-  
  
"My, what a compromising position."  
  
Sydney's head snapped towards the source of the interrupting voice.  
  
Ana Espinosa.  
  
In contrast to the utilitarian black burglar gear both Sark and Sydney wore, Ana wore a long gold evening gown. Heavy silk fell in graceful folds down to stiletto heels, Ana was flawless. The silver pistol she had trained on them seemed more like an elegant accessory than a weapon.  
  
Her own lips bleeding and her cheek bruised, Sydney felt at a distinct psychological disadvantage.  
  
The timbre of Ana's voice had been sly and full of knowing. In one fluid movement, she sinuously leaned forward to pick the forgotten disc off the mahogany floor. Ana stood and thoughtfully tapped her index finger against the sculpted curve of her cheek, as if pondering what to do with them.  
  
Sydney fumed; she and Sark had been fighting for a full three minutes. If anyone was going to steal that disc from me, it was going to be Sark. Definitely not some Ana come lately.  
  
Certain that together they could take Ana, even if the damned woman did have a gun trained on them, Sydney tried to make eye contact with Sark. But Sark wasn't looking at her.  
  
It almost appeared as if Sark had stopped breathing. His eyes were shut tight. When they opened, his gaze flicked from Ana to Sydney before finally locking onto the gun. His eyes revealed nothing and his mouth only admitted a set determination and stoic resolve.  
  
Resolve for what, Sydney wondered.  
  
But then, quickly, Ana was in front of him, leaning.  
  
Ana Espinosa was kissing Sark.  
  
And she wasn't doing in it a "Welcome home, Comrade Soldier" kind of way but in more of a full on "Hey, Big Boy, what can I do you for?" osculation.  
  
Highly trained as she was, Sydney's first thought was still a very strong "Ew."  
  
It was only after expressing her repulsion that Sydney began to think of strategy. She could still go out the window. And maybe if the kiss went on just a little longer, she could also get her hands on the disc. Ana's arms were wrapped around Sark, trapping his arms against his body. The pistol was still in her right hand and the disc was held loosely in the other.  
  
Quite unexpectedly, Sydney hoped that Sark would bring some of his charm to bear. She wished he would dip Ana or slip her some tongue, something. All in all, Sydney was disappointed by the passivity of his technique. She had always imagined him to be more aggressive. Not that she'd ever actually imagined-  
  
She really needed to get to that window. Only need a few more seconds-  
  
Much too soon, Ana pulled away from Sark. She looked closely at him for a few searching seconds. But Ana obviously didn't see what she wanted because the next thing she did was step away to pistol whip him.  
  
Ow, Sydney grimaced in sympathy pain as Sark fell to the floor with a thump. He was out.  
  
Working her way towards the window, Sydney held her palms toward Ana. "Okay, you got the disc. You can keep the guy. Are we done here? Because, honestly, I think I'm too squicked to fight you right now."  
  
Ana didn't answer, not with words at first. Instead, she moved to block the window.  
  
Sydney considered the window, Ana, the disk, and Sark unconscious on the floor. Perhaps it was too early to claim the title of Spying Badass. But hope sprung eternal when she realized Ana had left the door, and the path to it, wide open.  
  
With one fleeting, curious glance at Sark, Sydney began a dead run for the door. There was a gunshot, but it didn't hit her. Pumped with an adrenaline high, Sydney hardly felt it when she ran into the solid mountain of a man Ana had set to guard the hallway.  
  
Nor did she notice when she bounced hard off his chest onto the floor at Ana's feet.  
  
Or when Ana probed her prone body with one elegantly shod foot and easily dismissed her.  
  
What Sydney did notice, and was insulted by, was Ana's completely insincere apology, "Sorry to interrupt your foreplay," before knocking her out.  
  
***  
  
Sydney awoke to voices. It was Russian, but so musically accented she almost couldn't place it. Three voices, no, two. Was that some kind of Spanish or Hispanic accent? Not Cuban. Nicaraguan! Not Ana's neck of the woods, but close enough. Maybe Sandanistas?  
  
She evaluated her surroundings. She was tied to the standard chair with the standard manacles fettering her wrists and ankles. Just once, she thought, I'd like to be tied up with rope.  
  
There was enough room behind the chair for her to roll her neck in a circle without her head hitting a wall. She estimated the room to be four by four feet square. To call it a room was definitely being generous. She supposed that made sense since it was her holding cell. There were no windows, but the door was set to her left. There was no knob on the inside, but the door did feature a small rectangular window of (surely bulletproof and shatterproof) glass for the guards to look in through.  
  
Sydney then tried to assess her options. She didn't know how long she'd been out and they'd removed her watch. Worse luck, they had also removed her earpiece (SD-6 comm), earrings (CIA comm), belt (lock pick set cum med kit), shoes (released sleeping gas), socks (sewn-in tracker), and ponytail holder (contained a small amount of C4). And there was always the underwire in her bra, God knew that in addition to providing excellent cleavage, the thing was sharp enough to wound. But she wouldn't be able to reach that with her hands tied.  
  
In an effort to gather more intel, Sydney began to scream and thrash as much as a bound woman could. Within seconds, one of the guards had unlocked the door to check on her. Keeping his gun trained and ready, he approached Sydney carefully.  
  
He watched her closely before yelling back to his companion in Russian, "It's okay. She can't hurt herself. As long as she's screaming, we'll know she hasn't choked on her tongue." The guard still gave her a sharp nudge in the shoulder with his gun before returning to his post. "And if she's faking, she'll tire soon."  
  
Before he shut the door, Sydney, hair mussed and cheeks red with exertion, called out to him in Spanish, "Who are you working for? What do you want with me?"  
  
The guard didn't even pause.  
  
***  
  
Though she had tried to stay awake for fear of a concussion, Sydney fell asleep. She awoke to a man, presumably the second guard, setting a folding chair beside her. He produced an unlabeled bottle of water, an apple, and a tin of fish. After arranging these on his lap, he busied himself with slicing a surprisingly fresh-looking loaf of dark-brown rye. The guard fed her without baiting or mistreatment. He was also cautious enough to watch her swallows before offering her any more food. Sydney was so hungry she almost forgot the rifle in his easy reach. However, she did manage to get a good look at his watch.  
  
1400 hours. If the date on the timepiece was correct, Sydney supposed she had been kidnapped twelve hours earlier. If Ana had access to a plane, they could be anywhere in the world. Her mind was clearer now than the first time she'd awakened and she wondered what exactly was going on. She and Ana had tried to kill each several times; Sydney had always thought Ana would be direct about it. It didn't make sense for Ana to kidnap her. This was completely uncharacteristic behavior, and Sydney wanted to know why. Why, why, why? What was different this time? Sydney winced as a pair of cool blue eyes occurred to her.  
  
Sark. Well, now, that was enough to make anyone act irrationally.  
  
Speaking of crazy, Ana had kissed Sark with a certain degree of familiarity. He had all the accoutrements of rich playboy and Sydney had instantly assumed that Sark practiced the typical sexual habits accordingly. But there was having a girl in every port, and then there was Ana Espinosa. It was mind-boggling. She wasn't the screw-her, lose-her kind. Ana was deadly, malicious, and blissfully so.  
  
No, Sydney, corrected herself. This made perfect sense. Sark was probably turned on by the peril of a relationship with someone as homicidal as himself.  
  
Fat lot of good this did for Sydney. He wasn't tied to a chair, helpless -or if he was, Sydney shied away from that visual. She knew that any alliance between Sark and Ana would mean bad things for herself.  
  
She looked up to study her guard. She could take him. With one hand free, definitely. Oh, and a foot would help, too. Damn, who was she kidding? She had to figure out the chair situation first. A surreptitious attempt to rock her seat assured Sydney the chair was firmly attached to the floor.  
  
She looked to the guard again; he was cleaning up the remains of her meal. In Spanish, she asked him, "Why hasn't she killed me yet?"  
  
The guard surprised her by shrugging his shoulders. "I don't ask questions. Perhaps she is waiting to do this herself? She's busy right now." He laughed as if he had made a clever joke.  
  
"Where's the man I was with?" Sydney didn't like the insinuation of her own words but realized she needed to provoke the guard to answer.  
  
The guard looked at her with a shade of pity. "He is also busy right now."  
  
A completely unrelated and innuendo-free incidence of busy, Sydney scoffed internally. Right.  
  
As suddenly as it had begun, it seemed that Q&A was over. He picked up the folding chair and rifle, then rapped on the door so the other guard could unlock it.  
  
Sydney was alone again. She supposed it wasn't so bad. She was reasonably clean and safe; she had been in worse situations. Taipei came to mind. Cairo, Geneva, Argentina. And Taipei again. Siberia, where Sark had been. Paldiski, Sark was there, too. Oh, look, there's a trend. Lucky me.  
  
And then just as if by naming the devil, she had summoned him, the door opened and there Sark was.  
  
Sydney steeled herself for interrogation. When she did so, she unconsciously flicked her tongue to the empty space where a certain unlicensed dentist had removed some of her teeth.  
  
When no questions came, Sydney looked up. Sark's shirt was torn to reveal several interesting slivers of back and abdomen. Gross, she thought. He's got hickies. And is that a bite mark?  
  
Sydney squinted, it is! I've been tied up here for hours and he's been getting love bites? Where are Sark's priorities!  
  
Sydney was outraged and prepared to give Sark a piece of her mind, no matter how unwise it was to henpeck at one's notoriously merciless captors. She had just opened her mouth when the guard, whom she had assumed was an escort and all-around bullyboy minion, moved away from Sark, out of the cell and locked the door.  
  
Sark dropped to the floor in a boneless splay of limbs.  
  
He seemed to be doing that a lot lately.  
  
Completely confused, Sydney was momentarily sidetracked by the thought that Sark might have a blood sugar problem. There was a quick image of Sark being stopped at airport gates: The security guards ignoring his loaded SIG and instead asking why exactly he carried so many hypodermic needles? Was he some kind of druggie? When Sark traveled to exotic locales for business, did he need to carry a doctor's note explaining his diabetes?  
  
Hmm, Sydney thought. It's beginning to show that Sark isn't the only one who's been knocked unconscious and silly today. Yesterday. Whenever.  
  
She cleared her head of the daydream and ventured, "Sark?"  
  
His head did not move from its position (stuck to the floor), but his response came in the form of a pained grunt.  
  
"Sark," she asked despite her better judgment, "Do you have a blood sugar problem?"  
  
There was a silent pause and a second grunt. "No. I just seem to be making a habit of getting the crap beaten out me by girls."  
  
Sydney took a second to decide whether she was insulted by his sexism or proud of her resemblance to that remark.  
  
"Okay, I'll bite," she said and winced at the unintentional pun. "I know why I was kicking your ass, but what about Ana?"  
  
There was a longer pause this time. "I slept with her."  
  
"You were that bad," Sydney quipped before continuing. "I think I caught that sex bit, actually. Your shirt is quite obviously torn, by the way."  
  
There was the rustling of clothes as Sark rearranged himself on the floor to lie on his side. He grunted again and corrected her, "I slept with her last year. The last time I was in Moscow, shortly before the first time I saw you, actually."  
  
Moscow?  
  
"You were hanging outside of a window," he offered. "People shot at you."  
  
"Ivankov," she had the memory now. "I didn't know you saw me. Wait. You slept with Ana just before killing the head of her agency? I can see how that would piss her off; Ana is very loyal-"  
  
"Actually-"  
  
"That wasn't enough?"  
  
"I'll admit it created some problems for her, after."  
  
"What problems, exactly?"  
  
"As you know, I 'passed' the directorship to Kessar. As it turns out, Kessar was not the most suitable man for the job. K-Directorate virtually crumbled due to his mishandling. Internal conflict has weakened the organization to a point where its rivals have moved in on its formerly undisputed territory." Sark took a deep breath.  
  
"Oh, god. There's more?"  
  
"Many blamed Ana for Ivankov's death and K-Directorate's subsequent collapse since I killed him and we had not exactly been discreet about our trysts. They thought we had conspired together."  
  
"Did you?"  
  
"Well, she thought we did. I promised her a position in The Man's cartel in exchange for K-Directorate's Rambaldi artifacts and research."  
  
"She believed you?"  
  
"I'll have you know I can be extraordinarily persuasive," Sark said haughtily although he still had not made eye contact with Sydney. "I also believe Ana fully intended to double-cross me after initiation into The Man's circle."  
  
"Well, gee, in that case," Sydney mocked. "So what happened? Obviously, you didn't come through."  
  
"I left. And when K-Directorate discovered that, in addition to 'selling' me the Rambaldi manuscript, they'd also lost their other artifacts and associated intel, their version of security section went after Ana."  
  
"It's all so clear to me now," Sydney said. "I never thought I'd understand Ana Espinosa but now I find myself not only understanding her motivation but applauding her actions. You're a real sleaze, Sark."  
  
"Yes. So I've been told. And it's not like you've never used your sex appeal to complete a mission, I suppose."  
  
"Sex appeal, not sex. There's a difference for some of us. Those of us who have a moral compass."  
  
"I knew I was missing something."  
  
"Want to know what I'm missing? The part where your explanation provides for my presence. While top-full of intrigue and all very exciting, it has nothing to do with me. You screwed Ana, on several different levels, I might point out, yet I am the one in manacles."  
  
"Are you complaining about the fact that she hasn't killed you yet?"  
  
"No, I'm trying to find out why I'm here." She left unsaid the part about 'so I can formulate an educated plan of escape before Ana comes to kill me.'  
  
Sark shifted noisily on the floor and spoke slowly, "It happens, not unexpectedly, that Ana is the jealous sort of ex-girlfriend."  
  
"Again, if only to emphasize my frustration, what does this have to do with me? So Ana's jealous, what's she jealous-," Sydney stopped speaking, though her mouth remained open.  
  
Finally, Sark lifted his head to look Sydney in the eye. "She's jealous of you." 


	2. Dos

"She's jealous of you."  
  
Sydney met the remarkably limpid grey-blue gaze with absolute attention. Every detail belonged to her; she noted the long sweep of eyelash and the brows arched too perfectly to be wasted on a man. Sark had gorgeous, dreamboat eyes. The polished pools radiated angelic innocence and good intentions. His eyes were deep with the glow of benevolence, integrity, and uprightness.  
  
That's how Sydney knew Sark was lying. Or, telling half-truths at best. She wasn't sure which was the more dangerous, but was positive he had perfected the art of both actions.  
  
His eyes shone as if there were a hole in the back of his head and the sun had let its full brilliance surge through. Sark had never looked more harmless, so Sydney knew she had to keep her guard up.  
  
"Ana Espinosa isn't jealous of me; if anyone exudes self-confidence, it's her. She's always claimed that I was playing out of my league." Sydney's genius quality intellect informed her exactly where Sark was heading but she, instead, preferred to ignore logic in favor of denial, sanity, and human decency by prevaricating for all she was worth.  
  
"She's not jealous of you professionally, though, I willingly admit, your talent for espionage is nothing short of phenomenal."  
  
His eyelashes fluttered in a maddeningly attractive way that sent Sydney's hackles up.  
  
Well, up-er, since they'd been up from the moment he'd purred into her ear back at Gould's office.  
  
Up-er? Perhaps, since they were already up. Sydney grimaced, Lovely, a few hours' exposure to Sark and years of graduate training in the English language have gone to rot.  
  
"Sydney, I'm going to go slowly now."  
  
"Okay," she answered, unsure she wanted to follow him anywhere but sure that she could stall.  
  
"Ana is an ex-girlfriend of mine."  
  
"Ex-girlfriend, of course, meaning 'good lay devoid of any emotional attachment or moral obligation.'"  
  
"Let's try this again," Sark sighed. "Ana, for lack of a better or more polite term, is an ex-girlfriend of mine. Due to the special conditions of our liaison's termination, I have reason to believe Ana may be interested in-"  
  
"Breaking your stringy neck into itty bitty bite size pieces?"  
  
"Oh, Sydney," Sark would have shaken his head if he wasn't sure it would hurt. "Itty bitty pieces? Were my polysyllabic words challenging your comprehension?"  
  
"Shut up, Sark. You're lucky these chains are holding me back."  
  
"Well, which is it, Sydney, shut up or explain? Have pity on a mere mortal without your ability to multitask."  
  
"Get a new bone to chew on, Sark! So you know I work for the-"  
  
"Sydney," Sark's tone changed from conversational to curt. "Don't talk about this here."  
  
Chastened, Sydney fell into silence. She realized she had almost revealed her identity as a double-agent in the heart of K-Directorate headquarters. Where is my head? And why did Sark stop me? Maybe he wants to keep the dirty blackmail for himself.  
  
"Now if I may continue?" Sark looked at her expectantly. "I believe the source of Ana's spite is not work-related but, shall we say, more an effect of the recreational aspect of your life."  
  
Sydney pursed her lips but refused to comment otherwise.  
  
"To be more explicit, Ana is jealous of your association with me."  
  
"I don't know why. I told Ana she was welcome to you."  
  
Sark had the audacity to look wounded. "I am not to be given away like so much refuse."  
  
"Could have fooled me."  
  
"Your wit is as keen as your bright beauty," he responded. "You see, Sydney, how comfortable we are together, even in this desolate cell? Is it any wonder Ana is envious of our connection?"  
  
"You've got to be kidding me. If she's so concerned with our connection, why did she stick us in the same cell?"  
  
"Were you not listening earlier? There's a power play going on here."  
  
"I don't even know where here is."  
  
"We're five miles out of Moscow. Underground, in the remains of K- Directorate's headquarters. Not only does Ana have access to a limited amount of space, but she's probably trying to conceal your identity. Ana still does have superiors, you know, and their plans for you could not possibly coincide with hers."  
  
"That's a lot of information Sark, thank you for enlightening me. But I can't help but wonder exactly how you came by that intel. As a matter of professional courtesy, could you share the technique with me? I've never encountered a method that entailed hickies."  
  
Sark glared at her.  
  
Yeah, where are the dreamboat eyes now, Sark? Goodbye, azure orbs. Hello, really pissed off stare. This is more like it.  
  
Sydney took great satisfaction in Sark's stony quiet, but still prepared herself for the rejoinder he was sure to throw.  
  
It never came.  
  
Being closer to the door, Sark heard the guards coming before she did. Slowly, he drew himself up to full height and stood straight-backed when two guards entered the cell.  
  
"Espinosa will see you now," one of the guards looked to Sydney. "Both of you."  
  
While one guard handcuffed Sark, the other worked on Sydney's restraints. When she was allowed to stand, she saw a third guard through the glass in the door and decided to wait for a better opportunity to escape.  
  
Instead she took her frustrations out on Sark. Sandwiched between guards, she was able to lean forward, into him, for a second before the guards pulled her roughly away.  
  
When her had lips hovered above his ear, she had whispered, "I still don't believe you, but that doesn't mean I can't blame you for everything that happens here. Every single thing." 


	3. Tres

_Shades of SD-6_, Sydney noted after her first survey of the new environment.  Ubiquitously grey and harshly lit, it supported the allegation that all espionage agencies, CIA included, shared an interior decorator.  The room was long and featured a long conference table; it was made more spartan by virtue of holding only one chair.

The guards moved Sydney and Sark to the approximate center of the room, putting the table between them and the door.

_Guess we're standing then_, Sydney thought.  She didn't really mind since she'd been sitting for hours.  The guards stationed themselves before the door and she tried to surreptitiously stretch her muscles.

Her thoughts were interrupted as Ana swept into the room, still flawless but now dressed in a neat black business suit with her hair pulled back.  She seated herself across from them and crossed her legs beneath the table.

Sydney experienced flashbacks of visits to the principal's office and her mouth twitched up with amusement.

"Is something funny?"  Ana glowered at Sydney.  Sydney's first thought was that Ana really _was_ channeling her high school principal.  Her second thought was to wonder why Ana had given her captives the height advantage.

_Oh, wait, Ana is keeping us captive deep in the underground headquarters of a Russian terrorist organization.  She has all the advantages, she can afford to give us one little thing._

Then she noticed that Sark was standing awkwardly.  _His leg..._

His face was decidedly stoic so she wouldn't say anything.  Not that she would have offered sympathy, in the first place.  _Yeah, right.  He deserves whatever she did to his leg._

"I asked," Ana said, "if you found anything amusing."

Because Ana's question -_well, demand, really_- was emphasized by the two guards raising their pistols, Sydney quelled the urge to answer back smartly.

Internally, she justified the decision by admitting that _Just__ your face_ wasn't even a very good comeback.

Satisfied by Sydney's silence, Ana turned her attention to Sark.

"Mr. Sark." 

It only took the two words to warn Sydney.  Ana's face and voice may have presented an almost perfectly uniform facade of detachment, but her eyes betrayed cruelty.

"Mr. Sark, I hope you've reconsidered the offer of my services into The Man's organization."

To his credit, Sark replied evenly, "It is with utmost regret that I report I am not authorized to hire employees."

Sydney was sure he was lying, but not about to say anything about it.              

"Furthermore, my employer is currently unavailable.  I was not provided with contact protocol-"

"It appears, however, that you _were_ provided with lies," Ana interrupted, "Am I supposed to believe these feeble excuses?  Is your employer _out to lunch_, perhaps?  Oh, my darling, your act was more convincing post orgasm."

"Ana-"

"Ms. Espinosa," she corrected him.  "This is business."

"Now, Ana, you were the one who brought up our bed."  He smiled charmingly, showing long eyelashes to best effect.

"Was that not business as well?"

Sark raised a hand to his chest, making the most absurd avowal of sincerity Sydney had ever witnessed.  "Surely, you don't believe that I would-"

"Yes.  I believe you would, Mr. Sark."

"Only moments ago, you called me your darling.   Now I'm Mr. Sark.  Must you be so cold?"

The increasingly coy turn of the conversation alarmed Sydney.  Ana had stood up during the course of the exchange and her voice achieved a softer sound that could only be described as a pillow talk voice.  Not only were they ignoring her completely but it looked increasingly feasible that Ana might just ravish Sark on the conference room table instead of kill him.  

Sydney broke into their flirtation, "Ana, _my darling_, go ahead and kill Sark now.  He's no use to you anymore.  Sark can't get you a job because he's working for Sloane at SD-6 now."

The satisfaction of watching Sark's face fall was _immense_.  His eyebrows stood and then crumpled together in irritation.  His cheeks sunk in and his mouth crooked a little to the left creating the loveliest picture of angry disappointment.  _It was almost cute.  _Sark had never looked better.  

Ana's expression was only slightly less gratifying.  It was murderous.  

But then, something unexpected occurred, the blistering homicidal glare was turned on Sydney.  Full blast.

"Oh, he's working at SD-6.  With you?  You're colleagues?"

"Get off it, we are not together."

"You were together at Gould's office."

"We were not!  We were fighting over the disc; I was this far," Sydney indicated a span of nearly a hundredth of an inch with her fingers, "from taking him out.  I almost did you a favor."

Sark looked at Sydney for the first time, insulted out of all proportion.

"Oh?"  Ana arched a brow.  "Then why weren't either of you using your firearms?"

Sydney protested, "I pulled my gun on him.  He disarmed me.  If I hadn't disabled the security system, you could check the video..."

"Of course.  He _disarmed_ you," Ana smiled and Sydney felt her stomach sinking.

"But what about his SIG Sauer?  It's still fully loaded.  And what of the several knives we found on both of you?  Or the garotte on your bracelet?  The poison tip of his ring?  The grenade in your heel?  The blow darts on his  belt?  You expect me to believe that you were engaged in mortal hand-to-hand combat, truly trying to murder other, yet neglecting to utilize the considerable arsenal amassed between the two of you?"

_Hmm.__  Good points, all._  Sydney pondered, _Why__ didn't we..._

Ana persisted, "That was foreplay, Sydney.  I've done the same myself.  Sark, you remember Copenhagen, don't you?"

_Please, please, shoot me now_,Sydney prayed.   _I do not want to be privy to the __Sark__ and Ana Sex Nostalgia Hour._

"How could I forget?"  Sark smiled winningly but said, "But let's not talk about this in front of Sydney."

"Sydney."  Ana's expression switched from reminiscing to sharp in an Olympic display of facial contortion.  "How familiar of you.  Don't you mean Agent Bristow?"

"Yes, Mr. Sark," Sydney ground out.  "It's Agent Bristow to you."

Sark didn't even have the grace to look like a trapped man.  Standing equidistant from the two women, he chose to look at Sydney.    

Her stomach sunk for the second time that day, this time down to her knees.  Sark was looking at her tenderly.

_Uh oh.___

Then he spoke, and his voice was affectionate.  "It's okay, Sydney.  I'm not ashamed of our love."

Sydney launched herself at him.  It was strictly involuntary.

"Our love?  Our love?"  She shrieked as she dove at him, fully intending to crack her shackles against his head.

Before she could get a good hit in, the guards separated them.  Ana was sitting again and looking at them speculatively.

Scared beyond belief, Sydney retreated into her own thoughts.

_If the CIA extracts me, they'll only take __Sark__ into custody and cage him.  If I'm lucky they'll shave off his sweet little curls.  But if Sloane gets his hands on __Sark__ and I tattle about sabotaging the Gould mission...there will be thumbscrews.  And whips and chains.  I bet Sloane even has a rack down there somewhere._

Sydney looked up into Ana's eyes. _Yeah. Ana looks like the kind of girl that might have her own set of thumbscrews.  And whips and chains._

_Oh, I hope Sloane gets here first._

_It's official_, Sydney decided.  _Sark__ has driven me crazy._


	4. Cuatro

Sorry for the wait; school sucks. Hopefully, I can wrap this up before my holiday is over. Thank you everyone for the feedback!  
  
The pants of fire line was stolen from someone's sig. It was too good not to use. I have no idea whom it should be attributed to. Forgive me. And I hope this part is up to par, I'm still warming up.  
  
Thanks to my betas! Gabs, Brittany, and Serenitysea are the bestest. Any mistakes? Mea culpa.  
  
---Part the Fourth---  
  
Ana watched Sydney, eyes hungry and intense, but mostly dangerous. It reminded her of Irina, a little, and Sydney wondered if it was part of the KGB curriculum: Better Death Threats through Menacing Stares without Blinking.  
  
And speaking of darling Irina, Sydney contemplated how Ana would take that particular bit of genealogy. She would just love to say, Go ahead, kill me. My mother will really hire you then.  
  
"How," Ana began, catching Sydney's wandering attention, "does it make you feel? Your country accepting a terrorist like Mr. Sark and giving your safety into his care?"  
  
"I beg your pardon," Sark interrupted. "Terrorists are political; I do this for the money-"  
  
One of the guards butted him in the stomach with a rifle. Sydney almost thanked him.  
  
Instead, Sydney took the moment to prepare her answer. Ana had changed the game, shifting her focus from jealousy to something new and unexpected. Sydney told the truth, "I'll tell you how I feel. I loathe this man and all he's done. I feel endangered."  
  
Ana laid her palms flat on the table before her, "You feel betrayed, Sydney. As I felt when my own organization turned on me. You are confused by the actions of your country. You feel betrayed because you have been betrayed. Your country is using you. Let me give you some friendly advice; get out. Leave SD-6; they've betrayed you."  
  
Sydney's head spun. Wiser words had never been spoken, but by Ana? Did Ana know SD-6 wasn't CIA? If so, was she going to try and tell Sydney?  
  
"That's strange advice from a woman who's still with the organization that betrayed her."  
  
Ana flicked her left hand in graceful dismissal, "Oh, but I'm using them, too."  
  
"Right," Sydney scoffed. "You know what I think? I think you want me out because you can't stand the competition."  
  
Ana narrowed her eyes. "Yes, the shackles? They are intimidating. If only I had a pair of my own; I would not be so scared."  
  
Now this, Sydney frowned, is insupportable. I will not be mocked.  
  
"You know, I've been approached by the Man. I turned him down. No dental. I've had better offers."  
  
She was rewarded the burning glare of Sark. Not that she was looking at him; she could just feel it between her shoulder blades. Like a dagger.  
  
Sydney flipped her hair over her shoulder, a classic move learned long ago in junior high. She hoped it worked with hair that hadn't seen the business end of a brush in nearly two days.  
  
Ana rose slowly-  
  
There was a double rap at the door before it opened.  
  
A third guard opened it from the outside and reported in Russian, "Lukas has called a meeting. You must attend."  
  
Ana cursed, "He's going to move on Pasdik. I told him not to. It's premature." Without looking at Sark or Sydney, she ordered the guards to take them to the cell before sweeping out in a cloud of what Marshall would have described as "bad vibes."  
  
***  
  
This time, the guards shackled Sark's ankles together, too. Between that and the length of chain connecting his collar to the wall, he was forced to stand upright. He was still favoring his left leg.  
  
Sydney was returned to the chair. Same old boring walls and cement floor. Fantastic. Not only does the ambience suck, but so does the company. A plan, she wished, my kingdom for a plan.  
  
"That was not a clever thing," Sark broke into her thoughts.  
  
Sydney debated not answering him. "What can I say? Guess my IQ dropped about seventy points the second you entered Flirting with the Enemy Funtime."  
  
"It was a distraction," he drew out each word as explaining carefully to a young child.  
  
"Right." Sydney smiled with false ingenuousness, "Mine, too."  
  
"I know for a fact that the Man has never made you an offer of employment. And never will."  
  
"You admitted yourself that you've been out of contact."  
  
He gave her a hard look. Sydney wondered whether Sark knew the Man was her mother and, also, if he knew Irina was in CIA custody. Was this all part of a plan? Well, it wasn't like she could ask him.  
  
"Nevertheless, I stand by my information."  
  
"I believe we've also already established that you're a liar."  
  
"Come now, Sydney. If I were lying, wouldn't my pants be on fire?"  
  
Sydney looked at him. "That's Agent Bristow to you. See, this is why you're not included in my escape scenario."  
  
He arched a brow in return. "You're withholding?"  
  
"Drop the sexual innuendo. We're imprisoned in an underground enemy fortress by a crazy woman who likes to kill people. We've got torturous irony to spare."  
  
"It's not that I don't have the utmost faith in your abilities, because, oh, I do. But as you have only just emphasized, we are in a most unlikely situation for decampment. Reason must tell you our odds only improve with combined effort."  
  
"Sorry, no," she smiled, "We're all out of reason today. In fact, my day kind of started out logic-free. And, hey, this is all your fault."  
  
"Yes, Agent Bristow, we covered this. 'Every little thing.' Our charming tete-a-tete in the hallway?"  
  
"To continue with my relevant expression of grievance, if you hadn't interrupted, Ana never would have caught me. Ergo, I would not be here. Ergo all your fault."  
  
"To continue with my more urgent inquiry into your exit strategy, as opposed to backsliding into immature scapegoating, did you have a plan?"  
  
"Yes," she lied.  
  
"You are obviously lying-"  
  
"You wouldn't know the truth if it-"  
  
"If it what? Hit me? How could I, I've been hit so many times today-"  
  
Before their conversation could further degenerate, the cell door opened. A tall, medium-built man entered. Sydney didn't recognize him but he ignored Sark and walked straight to her. He stood about a foot off and looked directly at her face before speaking.  
  
"You have the look of her. Lips, chin, and cheekbones. Espinosa is blind not to see it."  
  
Sydney stared. Well, if Sark didn't know about Mom, he can probably figure it out now.  
  
"Abram Chered. I would like to help you. Do not fear, I have my own selfish reasons. The least of which is your…blood."  
  
"I'm willing to hear you out," Sydney remained suspicious.  
  
"You understand the circumstances here?"  
  
Sydney nodded.  
  
"I represent a cadre opposing Espinosa. One of many, I assure you. She wants you here for some reason. Naturally I want the reverse. I'll ransom you to SD-6."  
  
"And keep the money for yourself?"  
  
"Naturally. Should the sum be worth my while…"  
  
"It will be." Sydney was certain her father would guarantee payment.  
  
"Good. Then I'll remove you to my own area of influence forthwith."  
  
"The guards?"  
  
"Are not personally loyal to Espinosa. I outrank them. It is enough."  
  
Sark coughed. "Might I inquire whether I may avail myself of the same opportunity?"  
  
Chered turned, looking at Sark for the first time. "I think not."  
  
"I beg you to reconsider," Sark said in a tone that had nothing of pleading in it. "I am worth at least double the amount of Ms. Bristow."  
  
"Charming," he casually dismissed Sark. "It's been a pleasure, Ms. Bristow. I will return for you shortly."  
  
***  
  
TBC… 


	5. Cinco

Thanks especially to my betas Gabs, Brittany, and Serenity. This would have *way* more confusing without them. Extra thanks to my dove for the *paragraph*.  
  
--Part the Fifth--  
  
Before Abram Chered could move towards the door, Sark spoke again. "Please, do not strain yourself. Ms. Bristow will not be accepting your gracious offer."  
  
"You will find no succor with me, Mr. Sark. You and Espinosa deserve each other. If not, I would kill you myself. Kessar had my respect."  
  
"You are simply surrounded by persons of amiability and goodwill. Even so, you need not trouble yourself with returning."  
  
Sydney turned her head sharply. Sark met her eyes, threat implicit.  
  
Sark looked at Sydney but spoke to Chered.  
  
"She would much rather keep me in good company." Sydney detected the gravity in his voice. "And in any case, your letter of ransom would best be directed elsewhere-"  
  
Chered raised his eyebrows in question and turned to Sydney.  
  
She sighed in resignation and answered stonily. "Yes. This cell, and the company, have suddenly grown more attractive. Thank you, though."  
  
Sark smirked, "I knew you could not be impervious to my-"  
  
"Manipulation?"  
  
Chered spoke before Sark could, "I'll take my leave then. This visit has been intriguing, to say the least. Should you reconsider, Ms. Bristow, tell the guards."  
  
He rapped on the cell door, and was let out.  
  
Sydney followed his passage with a longing look before confronting Sark. He look entirely too pleased for her tastes.  
  
When the door locked, Sydney spoke. "You're a bastard."  
  
Sark grinned, "Just doing my part to fulfill all your expectations of my character."  
  
Lacking an adequate vocal response to such insouciance, Sydney glared.  
  
"Now onto this plan of yours?"  
  
The exasperation showed on her face, "Why are you pushing this so hard? I thought you were the man of a thousand getaways. Shouldn't you have some sort of super expensive concierge service panting for your summons; you know, people to ask, 'Would you like white wine or red with your rescue?' Or shouldn't you be slithering somewhere with Ana so you can steal the keys to whatever top of the line sportscar is inexplicably hidden in an out of the way garage?'  
  
"Leave me alone."  
  
Sark was quiet. When she looked at him, she noticed his expression was somewhat pained.  
  
"Ana is going to kill me. There will be no miracles or last-minute smooth talking. I need your help."  
  
Sydney knew better, she did. Intellectually, she knew that the desperation was show; Sark had perfect control over his features and only betrayed emotion to his benefit.  
  
And yet her empathy was undeniable. Hell, she was scared of Ana and she hadn't even screwed her…  
  
Which was a good point. Sydney felt caught. On one hand, Sark had gotten them into the situation and he wasn't her responsibility. On the other hand, she didn't want to leave anyone in a situation of certain death and torture. Not even Sark…  
  
Of course, then there was that other hand -the third and therefore strictly imaginary, where she couldn't even help herself. Consideration of Sark was moot at this point. She had to worry about herself.  
  
"Sydney, I need your help. If I have to use my leverage, I will consider it well spent."  
  
Oh, yeah, Sydney thought. I'll help him escape, right into a comfortable cell at the CIA Marriot. "Gonna be awful hard to make that threat when you're in custody."  
  
"It's going to be 'awful hard' to take me into custody now that I have been warned of your intentions." He paused. "I think any collaboration of ours would be handicapped by anything less than complete trust. If we are to escape, I want a guarantee that you will not attempt to take me into custody."  
  
She scoffed, "You're not going to get it."  
  
"Sydney, please."  
  
"Bristow."  
  
"Agent Bristow, please believe that I want to get out of here as much as you do. And I am willing to admit I need your help."  
  
She weakened. It was true, well, as far as it went. "What if I can get Chered to take you, too?"  
  
"No. Laura has told me about Chered; they were not friends. I don't think he meant to ransom you to SD-6 but to her, and when he found he could not contact Laura, I think he would have killed you."  
  
Laura? Sydney tried not to show confusion on her face. Who was Laura and why was Sark blithering on about her? A credible source? Gossip maven of the SpyWorld? Well, she wasn't friends with- Oh! Laura, as in her mother. As in, Irina formerly known as Laura Bristow. Sark wasn't saying Irina because Ana might not have made the connection. While it might be widely known in this part of the world that Irina Derevko had a daughter with a CIA agent, it might not be widely known that Sydney was that daughter. She couldn't exactly picture her mother at social functions playing the proud parent by cooing, "Yes, that woman who stole your priceless relic and took out twenty of your guards? That's *my* kid. Isn't she great; she has my cheekbones."  
  
Sydney doubted Ana knew. Ana was the kind of woman who would make a comment and make it *hurt*. So it was better to be circumspect and not blab about dear old mother while in Ana's jail cell. Sydney supposed that was true by sane person logic, anyway. Sark had pointed out earlier that the room might be bugged and she had forgotten *again*.  
  
He drove her crazy. It was amazing the effect Sark's proximity had on her attention…   
  
Rather than explore that thought, Sydney nodded; she had already considered the possibility of a double cross. Her mother didn't seem like the type to make friends easily. She moved on from Chered and offered, "We've been gone for almost forty-eight hours. The CIA and SD-6 are probably both looking for me. They may have even seen Ana take us."  
  
"I doubt it. She may be crazy, but she is also very good at her job."  
  
"Does anyone know where you are?"  
  
Sark shook his head, "Sloane probably thinks I've betrayed him by now."  
  
Sydney pursed her lips, trying to suppress her response of 'And he'd be right.'  
  
There was another rap at the door.  
  
Sark quipped, "We are certainly popular tonight, aren't we?"  
  
Sydney ignored him and concentrated on their visitor, the guard who had fed her earlier. He was carrying another tray, with a meal for two this time. He set it down in a place where he could watch them both, "Food first, then the restroom, and then you may sleep."  
  
While Sydney was being spoonfed, Sark spoke to the guard. "How much would pay for your inattention?"  
  
He didn't answer, so Sark persisted. "I know that you're not loyal to Ana. Cash, jewels, I can reward you handsomely."  
  
The guard spoke coldly, "I am not loyal to Espinosa; I am loyal to K-Directorate. You cannot buy me."  
  
Crash and burn, Sydney thought. It had gained them nothing. But it hadn't been a loss either; Ana probably expected them to try to escape.  
  
Then he looked speculatively at Sydney, leering up and down. "You cannot buy me with money."  
  
Sydney went very still, but she did not physically withdraw from the guard despite her repulsion.  
  
Sark's face did not change, "It appears that I am forced to respect the integrity of your loyalty."  
  
The guard shrugged, "It was worth a try."  
  
***  
  
TBC  
  
I decided not to be cheap and be all, "What will Sark do? Will he give Sydney to the sleazy guard? Will he do it and say that he knew   
  
she could give said sleazy guard's ass?" I was tempted though. I really was. 


	6. Seis

My betas are better than yours! Thanks to Gabs, Brittany, and Serenity Sea.  
  
--Part the Sixth--  
  
Despite all expectation, Sydney fell asleep easily. She awoke to Sark's voice.  
  
That's just what I always wanted, she grumbled internally.  
  
"Sydney! Wake up, someone is coming. Woman, what does it take to wake you."  
  
She shook her hair away from her face as best she could and wished she could rub her eyes. Sark looked equal parts concerned and annoyed.  
  
He also looked as if he hadn't slept.  
  
Seconds later, the door opened and a guard, a different one, moved inside the cell and began to unlock Sydney while another stood with his gun trained on her.  
  
She eyed them both carefully.  
  
The one with the rifle responded to her silent scrutiny, "Espinosa wants to see you."  
  
Sark took a breath, signaling that he would speak but the guard with the gun punched him first. "You get to stay here. And you'll be quiet, or I'll stay here with you."  
  
Sydney refused to look at Sark while they led her away, the cold muzzle at her back the whole time.  
  
But she could feel him watching her; she always did.  
  
***  
  
The guards took her to a different room and this time Ana was waiting for her.  
  
"Long time, no see," Sydney said. "How'd your meet go?"  
  
Ana didn't answer. She only smiled and gestured towards a large projector set in the wall.  
  
Sydney was forced into a metal chair with leather cuffs built-in to secure her wrists; it sat directly before the screen. "What? You're gonna force me to watch lame Power Point slideshows?"  
  
"You gave me the idea when you mentioned the security cameras. I'm going to prove that you lied to me."  
  
"Of course, I've lied to you."  
  
Ana arched a brow, "About Sark and your.love."  
  
"You've got to be kidding me. You wasted time on this? No matter K- Directorate is going to crap," Sydney rolled her eyes. "Okay, look, I didn't lie to you about that. Let's set the record straight. There is nothing going on there except for some serious homicidal urgency. So, if you don't mind, let's skip the slideshow and you could just try and hit me or something."  
  
Ana moved between Sydney and the screen, a mouse in one hand and laser pointer in the other. "Now be silent, or I'll shoot you in the kneecaps."  
  
The presentation began.  
  
"Exhibit One." Twenty seconds of grainy satellite imagery. Sark and Sydney driving alongside each other, and then meeting off the road. Ana's commentary was given in a conversational tone. "Intimate setting. The matching outfits are a nice touch."  
  
"Exhibit Two." Sark and Sydney in an SD-6 briefing. Sydney was paying attention, Sark was watching her. Then their eyes met, held, and she looked away. "Unresolved sexual tension? It's almost palpable. How is it that no one notices?"  
  
"Exhibit Three." Sark picking up roadworker Sydney in his gendarme car. "The couple that works together, stays together."  
  
"Exhibit Four." The conference room again, but this time alone. Sydney remembered it was the time Sloane told her to debrief Sark. "But SD-6 has rules about fraternization, doesn't it? There's a table between you and you're exchanging longing looks. How sad."  
  
"Exhibit Five." Sydney was dressed as a geisha, Sark getting out of a car to meet her. "But then your relationship began before you were colleagues, didn't it?"  
  
"Exhibit Six." Sark in a nightclub while Sydney played the chanteuse. Her hand skated along the curve of his face while she sang. A tender look graced Sark's face even after she had moved on. "How did your song go? Since I fell for you."  
  
Sydney remained quiet, though she was fuming.  
  
Ana glared at her, "I could continue."  
  
"It wouldn't matter. Those were taken completely out of context." Sydney paused to smile falsely, "You know what would have really convinced me? A soundtrack. How could you not have a soundtrack, Ana? I'm so disappointed in you. I mean there are so many songs! "Behind Blue Eyes" by The Who, -- , or even --. Those are Western Pop songs though, I'm not familiar with the Eastern European Terrorist Top 40 but there must something appropriate."  
  
Ana didn't indulge her humor. Instead she raised her pistol to Sydney's nose. Sydney noticed the safety had been disengaged.  
  
"I'm an empiricist, Sydney. The evidence is there, the conclusion foregone." Ana put her gun back down, moved to the door, and whispered orders to the guard. She looked at Sydney again, "Can you prove you aren't with him?"  
  
"Only with the burning hatred of my soul." Sydney narrowed her eyes; it was an impossible situation and she knew it. What's more, it was a moronic situation.  
  
"The court doesn't accept spiritual evidence," Ana smiled tightly. "And can you explain why, if not for love, you're still here?"  
  
"Could it possibly be because you imprisoned me."  
  
The guards must have reported our visitor, Sydney thought. She'd expected as much.  
  
"I know Chered had a proposal. He's predictable like that, always trying to undermine my actions when he doesn't understand them."  
  
Sydney was amazed. She acts like someone exists who does understand her actions; I don't think anyone could. If she thinks her actions make sense to the world, Ana really is delusional.  
  
The other woman continued unaware of Sydney's growing opinion on the state of her mental health.  
  
"I also know that Chered would not have offered to aid Sark. Chered hates Sark; that man sows discord wherever he goes."  
  
Sydney had to agree with the crazy lady on that part. But Ana's tirade had also given Sydney information. Ana thought Chered only acted politically; she didn't hear our exchange so the cell isn't bugged. Good to know.  
  
"Ana, just between us girls, why do you care so much?" Sydney smiled so sweetly. "I mean Sark burned you. Doesn't your utter humiliation make you just want to kill him? Oh, guess not because the first thing you did when you saw Sark was jump the man and forcefeed him your tonsils. Call me psychologically stable but I don't get it."  
  
"You act as if he was unwilling. Are you ready to admit greater insight into Sark's body language than my own? Mine's based on sex, but you claim not to have slept with the man so how can I believe you.," Ana trailed off suggestively. "Or are you just jealous?"  
  
"Hardly," Sydney set her mouth in an affronted line. "And while Sark wasn't pushing you away, he wasn't participating either. And you did have a gun. Sexual harassment isn't just limited to men, you know."  
  
"You were paying attention to detail. Kinky. He is a rather beautiful man. And you're not bad yourself."  
  
"Ruthless assassin sandwich, yeah, that's what I want." Sydney nearly gagged. "Seriously. Why are you so interested in Sark and me? I assure you there's nothing to satisfy a prurient interest."  
  
Ana gave her a disbelieving look but there was a knock on the door and the guard returned, pushing Sark before him.  
  
"Hello ladies." Sark didn't act as if he'd just been shoved forward rudely.  
  
"Sark," Ana drew the word out and her hand moved along his neck at the same pace, mocking Sydney's movement from the Paris cabaret. Ana moved behind him, her arm light on his waist and her head leaned on his shoulder. She looked at Sydney. "Sark, can you prove you aren't romantically involved with Sydney Bristow."  
  
"Now why would I do that?"  
  
Sydney bristled at Sark's tone.  
  
Ana laughed. No, Ana giggled. Sydney was going to throw up.  
  
"Let me out of this chair," Sydney beseeched them. "I can't watch this."  
  
Sark maneuvered to face Ana, but adjusted their position so that they both faced Sydney. His expression was innocent, "Don't be jealous, my love. She's my past; you know you're the only one for me."  
  
"I can change your mind," Ana flirted.  
  
"You can try," Sark returned, a roguish grin on his face. His own arm was draped around her waist.  
  
"I really can't watch this. Unless you want to clean up my vomit, let me out of this room. You two can go at it all you want, but wait until I leave."  
  
Ana pursed her lips thoughtfully before whispering in Sark's ear.  
  
When she finished, punctuating her sentence with a playful nip on his lobe, Sark nodded.  
  
She shifted away from Sark and toward Sydney. "Do you really want to prove what you say?"  
  
Sydney glared at them suspiciously before answering decisively. "Yes."  
  
Ana stepped out of the way. Sark moved quickly, kneeling before Sydney in the chair. He pressed his mouth to hers. His lips were dry and rough at first but he used his tongue to lick her lips and his hands were smooth against the nape of her neck. He was warm and smelled.good. His long fingers slid through her hair and they guided her body towards the heat of him with a gentle press; he sucked on her lower lip until she opened her mouth. His tongue slid in, velvet and searching deep in and out again, soft, in and out-  
  
Ana coughed and Sark drew himself up, his eyes on Sydney the whole time. Sydney tore her eyes away and realized she was leaning as far forward as her restraints allowed. His scent lingered.  
  
Slowly, she shifted her body to meet the back of the chair.  
  
Before the horror could fully set in, there was another knock at the door.  
  
***  
  
TBC 


	7. Siete

Thanks to my betas Gabs, Brittany, and Serenity because sometimes I even confuse me.  All mistakes are my own.  

--Part the Seventh--

"Everyone here is so polite, always knocking."

Ana shot Sark a mean look before turning her attention to the guard.

He reported succinctly, "Chered has allied with Pasdik.  There's fighting in the halls."

Ana swore.  "Where's Lukas?"

"South corridor, in the thick of it."

There was loud crash and the room shuddered.

"They're using explosives?  In the compound?"  Ana acted as if the stupidity were intended exclusively to insult her.

"Grenades, yes, one of Nadejda's men started it."

"Nadejda?  Who else is involved?"

"Aimatov, Jeros, Vaska.  You must come."

"_Idiots_.  Stay here."  Ana checked her firearm and gestured toward Sark.  "Cuff him."

She strode out of the room, flanked by the other guards.

When the guard turned his back to handcuff Sark, Sydney thought it was the opportune moment.  Grunting, she freed herself by tearing the leather wrist restraints out of the chair.  They were old and she had been working on them since Ana's stupid slideshow began.  The guard heard the ripping noise, but Sydney was able to kick him in the head before he could reach for his gun.  He staggered back into Sark, who threw his wrists over the guard's head.  He used the chain of his manacles to strangle the guard.  The guard struggled, gasping for air when Sark finally let him drop to the floor.

"See," Sark said, somewhat inappropriately.  "I told you we'd make an unstoppable team."

Sydney retrieved the guard's gun and keychain from his belt.  She stood, unlocked the door, exited, and waved at Sark, "Bye bye."

"Sydney!  I can get the handcuffs off myself, but that door locks automatically and you have the only key."

"Right," Sydney checked the hall.  She stood slightly outside the door, ready to shut it with a flick of her hand.

"You can't leave me."

She grinned and repeated, "Bye bye."

"Don't you want to take me into custody?"

"You've got an injury.  You'd only slow me down.  Now I really need to go."

"I've got Gould's disk.  I lifted it while Ana was groping me."

"Why shouldn't I just take it and leave you here?"

"Because the disk is down the front of my pants."

She paused, considering.

"I don't want to know how or when you managed that," Sydney shuddered.  She unlocked Sark's wrists, grabbed his hand, and dragged him after her.  "Now, come on!"

***

Unsurprisingly, the halls of K-Directorate bore a physical resemblance to those of SD-6.  It was too bad the similarity did nothing to help Sydney's orientation.  She wished there were signs with arrows, "Prisoners, freedom this way.  Certain pain and death to the left.  Canteen next right. "  

Lacking explicit markers, Sydney navigated by the sophisticated method of running in the opposite direction of the explosions.  It worked until they came to the intersection of four passages.  They all looked the same to her so she turned to Sark.  His face was ashen.  He was hobbling but his breathing was no more ragged than her own.

"You've been here before, which way?"

"I don't know," he shook his head.  "They didn't let me in the backways for some reason."

"Figures," Sydney muttered and picked a way randomly.  "This one then."

At that second, two men came running from one of the other passages.  They were firing behind them and so paid no attention to Sydney and Sark.  However, they were firing at Ana and a group of her friends.

Needless to say, Ana noticed them -and more importantly, their linked hands- immediately.

"I knew it!"  Ana shrieked triumphantly as she lobbed a small cylinder neatly at Sark's feet.  Her voice rose crystalline above the gunfire.

"It's not what it looks like," Sydney yelled back.  She fired at Ana's head but they ricocheted as Sark pulled her away.  

***

After a terrifying run through the halls of K-Directorate, Sark was able to direct them to a garage.  The entire compound had been absorbed in the firefight.  They stole a jeep and two rifles, and said goodbye to their prison without further hardship.  

Outside in the free world, it was cold and Sark was still dressed in his tattered black shirt.  Sydney was more concerned with the ice on the road.  She didn't want to turn the lights on, but she didn't feel like skidding off the sorry excuse for asphalt either.

"We were lucky."  Sark looked behind them while Sydney drove towards Moscow.  "It won't last.  Morning will break soon."

"I can get us to a CIA safehouse once we find a phone."

"A phone?  Sydney, we don't even have shoes.  We look like burglars on the lam," Sark looked down at the remains of his shirt. "Lousy burglars who were attacked by bears.  And you cannot just go traipsing into Moscow."

"I've done it before."

"Sydney," he faced her.  "First of all, you can't contact the CIA because SD-6 is looking for you.  Second, you can't contact SD-6 because I'm with you.  Third, you can't go into Moscow right now because I won't let you."

His stern tone alerted her.

"Explain."

"Moscow is your mother's backyard.  But she's not there to protect you anymore.  Her enemies will know.  So unless you want to end up in another prison, we need a different plan."

"What are you talking about?"

"The Man made a lot of enemies.  Some of them have tried for you before.  I've watched your back myself a couple times.  You might remember the sniper in '98; he wasn't after your informer, he was aiming for you."

"You're serious, aren't you?"  Sydney met his eyes.

"We need to be as inconspicuous as possible.  I have a safehouse outside of the city proper, along the Moskva River.  We can pick up decent clothing there, and a meal.  You can contact your father.  I have a secure line."

"What about the disk?"

"It will take your father some time to get here.  We can discuss the matter later."

The set line of his mouth informed Sydney that he was going to refuse further conversation.  She let him rest as they raced the sun to Moscow.

He only stirred when she tried to remove the rifle from his hand.  Besides the weapon, he looked _serene_.  She contemplated removing the disk and dropping him on the roadside.  But only for a minute.

***

Sark's safehouse was a modest grey two-story along the river.  Its main attraction was a fireplace in every room.  Lighting them had been Sark's first priority after donning a heavy green pullover.  The jeans he gave her were tight at the hip, but the navy sweater was warm against her clean skin.  The shower had come first.  She hadn't recognized the brands of soap, shampoo, or lotion and there were no labels to tender information.  Sydney noticed they smelled lovely without exception which answered how someone so wicked could smell so good.  By all rights, Sark should stink of brimstone, Sydney comforted herself by supposing Sark would but for the miracle of modern beauty products.

The promised meal was vegetable stew and a glass of milk.  Curiously, Sark had cooked.  He must have retained reliable local help because the kitchen was stocked with fresh carrots, peas, and potatoes.  When she had entered the kitchen, he'd given her one long look.  He took in her wet uncombed hair, the purpling bruise on her cheek, and the clothes he'd given her and then returned to his preparations.  She was surprised he turned his back to her, but then again he was holding a very sharp knife.  Sydney decided not to interpret his action not as gesture of trust so much as confidence in his weapon.  When the stew was ready, he set it to simmer, and left for his own shower.

She had sat at the small carved table, watching him perform simple tasks like measuring herbs with an easy, unconscious elegance.  He hadn't said a word to Sydney the whole time.  She meant to discuss the disk but couldn't bring herself to interrupt his concentration.  _What was he thinking about?  _Sydney doubted he was contemplating the moral lesson he should have learned in the past few days.  Well, she wasn't about to approach him with a line about hell, fury, and scorned women; he'd probably just pervert it into a come-on.

She sat at a kitchen window, watching snow fall in the backyard.  Sark had been in the shower for awhile.  She imagined he was having a hell of a time washing the wounds on his back and abdomen.  The scabs were fresh enough to be removed with even the kindest rubbing but they had to be cleaned or he risked infection.  She wondered if he had a tetanus shot.  God only knew what diseases Sark could get from…well, from whatever had made the cuts and gashes on his body…

Ana's nails?  

Sydney cringed but the thought of Sark's pain gave her a tingly, happy thrill.

She picked up the phone beside her and dialed.  When he had handed her the secured cell phone earlier, Sydney wished she had a bug to put on it but philosophically decided it didn't matter; he probably didn't use the house often.  

"Bristow."

"Dad-"

"Sydney, where are you?"

"On the outskirts of Moscow."

"I'm in the city.  I picked up your trail when the plane refueled in England.  I'm coming to get you; is your location secure?"

She paused before answering.  "Yes.  But I need you to wait an hour."

"Sydney, no, you've been missing-"

"I'll meet you at Kiev station.  I have to do something.  It's important.  I _need_ to do this."

"One hour."  Somehow managing to convey relief and efficiency, her father hung up.

She put the phone down and moved through the kitchen towards the back bedrooms.  The shower was still running.

Sydney smiled slowly.  It was going to be _perfect_.

***

TBC

Hang on, the end is totally nigh.  There's one more part; thanks for hanging on this long…


	8. Ocho

Thank you to everyone especially Fanatic!  Your feedback has been going so much of the time.  This was a *monster* to me.  

Whoa, landi.  Thanks.  OMG, I'm an idiot.

**Part Eight**

With the heavy curtains drawn, Sark's bedroom was pleasantly shadowed.  It was a spacious, minimally furnished room with a dark wood floor.  The bed itself was king-sized and very soft; the amber linen complimented the scrolled wrought iron of the bedframe.  Sydney bounced on the mattress experimentally and decided she liked it.  It was more than suitable for her purposes.

And the fireplace was a nice touch, too.

When Sark finally left the bathroom, Sydney was thrilled to see he was wearing a towel around his waist and nothing more.  

He had shaved.  His blonde hair was still wet and she was inordinately pleased to see he was more disheveled schoolboy than straggly dog.  She let her gaze stray southward as a droplet of water skimmed down the plane of his cheek, past his neck, to fall on his broad bare chest.  Sark had to be one of the most well-made men she'd ever seen.  He was, as Ana said, rather beautiful.  She considered his chest, first appreciating the effect of the whole and then concentrating on the advantages of its discrete elements such as his nipples and muscle definition.  

She was still deliberating on the manifold benefits of Sark he when cleared his throat.

Sydney slowly brought her eyes back up to his, though she lingered at the crux of his neck and shoulder for a short time, and was further delighted to see that beneath the veneer of suspicion, Sark also appeared shaken by her behavior.  It seemed that things were going to go her way this time.  

She let it show in her smile.

He smiled back tentatively before speaking formally.  "Ms. Bristow, are you lost?"

_It's much too late for formality_, Sydney thought.  Lacking makeup and seductive lingerie, Sydney had been concerned about his response.  Apparently, she shouldn't have worried.  She'd seen his eyes pop out of his head as they'd traveled the full length of her body on his bed.  She lay on her side, propped against the pillows, artfully situated so that her long legs were shown to advantage even in ill-fitting jeans.  She'd left a bit of space between herself and the edge.  She crooked her finger at him and then patted the bed, clearly inviting him to join her.

Sark set his jaw with visible strain.  "Ms. Bristow, are you ill?  My doctor won't be available for house calls until later this evening.  I insist you see him then."

In a sinuous move that simultaneously shifted several of Sydney's more salient features to interesting effect on Sark's Adam's apple, Sydney sat up to expose the items behind her: salve and bandages.  Her voice was smoky when she finally answered him, "Sark, I feel fine.  I was just thinking of you."

There it was again.  His Adam's apple bobbed up and down.

Again, Sydney invited Sark to the bed.  She let herself chuckle, it looked like Sark couldn't decide whether to jump on the bed or run away quickly.  "I just want to check your leg and other...injuries.  You said the doctor will get here later but I think you deserve more immediate attention."

"It does hurt a bit," Sark bit his bottom lip as he lay down beside her on the bed, careful to keep the towel in place.

_He's still wary_, Sydney thought. _This will never do.  _

"Let me look," she whispered, not really asking for permission.  With another flowing movement, Sydney repositioned herself at the foot of the bed.  Facing him, she bent her head and took his left foot in her hands, massaging gently.  Inexorably, she moved her hands up to his ankle, at one point taking her nails and lightly scratching along the side of his foot.  He shivered so slightly Sydney would have missed it if she wasn't touching him.  She let her fingers delicately probe and found swelling.  Leaning down, she blew a warm breath across the area.  Then she slipped her hands further up, liberally extending her tender ministrations to his calve and knee.  When she rubbed his thigh just beneath the edge of the towel, she leaned herself forward teasingly almost pressing her breasts against his knee.  She lingered there briefly, letting her fingertips explore before returning downward to caress his muscled leg with firm, even strokes.  Again, she lavished attention on his ankle. At the same as Sydney's finger drew small circles on the sensitive underside of his foot, she blew across his ankle and let her mouth hover above almost kissing it. 

Foot still cradled in her hands, she sat up to look in his eyes.  They were hooded, and completely bare of anything but desire.

Rather than giggle with the delight success brought, Sydney let her voice drop to a husky, dark depth.  "I think it's swollen."

She absolutely refusing to drop a glance down to the towel.

"Turn over," she told him.  "I want to take care of your back."

Sydney's plan was simple; she would render Sark's mental faculties inoperative by a surfeit of physical stimulus.  Although he might academically know better than to lose control around Sydney, she was going to do her damnedest to make him ignore reason.  If she couldn't keep him completely interested, Sark's mind would wander into alternate scenarios and possible ulterior motives.

He lay on his stomach and Sydney stood over him to readjust the towel so that it covered the curve of his ass to mid-thigh, showing only the barest hint of sculpted hip.  His back was smoothly planed and fair as fine alabaster.  Pleased with the presentation, Sydney slid her right hand over his neck down to his shoulder as she moved to straddle him.  Sure enough, the bruises and abrasions were highly visible against the relative paleness of his skin.  She put her left hand on his other shoulder and then let both hands knead his back.  He grunted with pleasure as she relaxed him, sometimes tracing ever so lightly on his sensitive injuries.  Purposefully, she pressed down along one meandering scar and Sark hissed.  She tilted down slightly, again pressing herself down to his bare flesh.  She licked the scar while dipping her fingers in the jar of salve.  Then she straightened and began to apply the antibiotic cream with a gentle circular motion.  She took a bandage and smoothed it over the wound tenderly.   When she was done, she kissed the top of the bandage.  It wasn't normally part of the first aid process but she didn't much care.  She repeated the action several times and Sark had thrust his hips forward several times by the end.  Sydney pretended not to notice.  

He had only stilled his last surreptitious movement when Sydney leaned forward to whisper in his ear.  She braced herself inches over his body by laying one palm flat on the bed; she tangled the fingers of her other hand at the nape of his neck and pulled a little at the soft curls there.  Nuzzling against his earlobe, she murmured a new order.

"Turn over, so I can take care of the rest of you."

She dismounted and stood to the side of the bed to let him up.  Sydney figured the knot must be nearly Gordian; it was a miracle the towel remained around his lean hips.  She licked her lips when he arranged himself against the pillows.  Again, she placed her hand on her shoulder preparing to sit astride his lap but as she began to slide her fingers down his side, he grabbed her wrist and forced her to look him in the face.

His face was serious.  _Damnit.___

Her foot hung in the air.  Gravity and the awkward position forced her down, but Sydney held herself up by sheer force of will.  It wouldn't do to collapse clumsily on top of him.

His grip on her wrist was firm and forceful.  "Ms. Bristow, what are you thinking?"

"Just wanna see what all the fuss is about," Sydney kept her reply playful, referencing Ana's obsession with him.

Sark pursed his lips in deep thought.  He frowned, and then began to bite his bottom lip again.

_Let's make this choice easier on you_, Sydney thought.  She knew it was formulaic, but she was going to do it anyway.  She really couldn't help herself.  She leaned forward and offered huskily, "I could do that for you."

His eyes threw sparks.  Sark released her wrist but kept firm contact on her arm, guiding Sydney down to meet his body.  As promised, she nipped at his lip.  It was soft this time, and so was their second kiss.  It quickly grew in passion.  Sark didn't need to be convinced to let her in; soon their tongues tangled together and his thoughts were lost in a maze of moist warmth.  She settled against his hips and Sark drew his hands up and down her back, locking their bodies in a natural rhythm.  The she moved along his jaw and face, strategically kissing and caressing every one of the scars and injuries he'd suffered in the last few days.  Soon she had him begging.  His moan of pleasure became a snarl when Sydney removed herself from his mouth to suck hard at his neck.  His complaint faded when she moved to meet his lips, confident she had left her mark on him.   Licking the new bruise, Sydney slid herself down the length of his body, careful of his ankle, so that their legs became entwined.

"Why are you still wearing clothes," Sark gasped out as Sydney did something exquisite to his collarbone.

She was glad he had finally asked.  She lifted herself up to meet his eyes.  "Because, Sark, I wanted _you_ to undress me."

Sydney knew that Sark would doubt her intentions unless she let him dominate her.  She offered him a semblance of control so that he couldn't think of slow or long term but only the moment.  In response, his eyes smoldered.  Incongruously, Sydney remembered what she learned about fire in high school chemistry, blue flame burned hotter than red.  She burned, too, and let it show.  

The sweater came off first.  He inched it upward, kissing each new expanse of skin revealed.  He had taken special care laving the area between her breasts and brushing his hand slightly beneath them.  She moaned as he played his hands up and down her body.  Finally, he'd thrown the sweater over her shoulder and somewhere across the room.  

She braced herself against the bed, one hand flat to each side of his shoulders so he could get a good look at her.  He proved to be enthralled, not moving but only staring hard as if to memorize everything.  

When his eyes finally returned to hers, Sydney decided he was taking too long.  She sat up and grasped his hands in hers.  "I want you to touch me," she explained.

"I _am_ touching you," he smiled but indulged her.

"Not enough."  She hoped the desperate need shone in her eyes but ground her hips down to emphasize the point.

He was quiet as she led their hands behind her back to the clasp of her bra.  Blue to brown, they kept eye contact the entire time.  When the garment was successfully unfastened, Sydney slid the straps down.  She stretched her arms up luxuriously, the bra clutched tight in one fist when Sark bucked against her and she gasped.  Then she leaned into him so their bare skin touched.  

He proved to be as fascinated as ever and bent his head down to capture her with his mouth.

Sydney took the opening to knee him in the groin and drag their still entwined hands up to the top of the bed.  Before Sark knew what she was doing, Sydney had knotted his wrists to the headboard with her bra.

A look of panic appeared on Sark's face, so swiftly replaced by coy seduction she wasn't sure it had really ever been there.  "Sydney, I'd rather save these games until after we've been more traditionally sated."

Sydney slid off his body to the bottom of the bed.  She secured Sark's sprained ankle to the footboard with the handcuffs from K-Directorate.  Then she shimmied back into the sweater he'd discarded.  Fully dressed, she took the rifle she'd stowed beneath the bed earlier and held it to his side.

"You should really stop struggling.  That bra is made out of a super durable plastic polymer Marshall designed to resist the highest forces.  Support is very important," Sydney told him as if revealing a state secret.  "Can't have cleavage failure during an important mission.'

"You might also want to consider that the underwire is made of razor sharp metal.  There's a hidden release; if you keep thrashing like that you're bound to slice your wrists.  And we wouldn't want that, would we?' 

"Now tell me where the disk is or you'll be losing that extra kidney Satan gave you."

Sark went very still.  He looked at Sydney, no hint of emotion evident in his eyes.  "Whatever happened to that moral compass, Sydney?  You indict me with using sex as a weapon only to do the same.  That's scarcely what I'd call a high moral ground.  Could it be that I've corrupted you?"

"Actually, we've discussed this.  There's a difference between sex and sex appeal.  I never intended to have sex with you and it's hardly my fault you find me sexually appealing."  She nudged the rifle into his side.  "The disk?"

"Sydney, really, weren't we having a good time?"  
  


"It was beautiful," she said with false sincerity.  "Where's the disk?"

He sighed theatrically, "You've been in contact with the CIA, haven't you?  I'm rather disappointed.  I thought if you just experienced for yourself what satisfaction our partnership could bring, you wouldn't deny it.'  

Sark managed to look heartbroken, "I never expected you would deny _us_."

"Satisfaction?  I was kidnapped and tortured!  This is the last straw.  I've been putting up with your crap for days," Sydney finally said, exasperated.  "Before Tuesday, I already thought you were a nefarious, evil bastard.  But now?  I don't even think you're human."

"I'm just a man, Sydney.  You have proof of it."  He looked pointedly down at the towel.  "I think you even liked it."

She shook her head.  "The disk!"

"Alright," Sark relented.  "Because of the affection I have for you and what could have been.  The disk is in the dresser, second middle from the bottom.  There's a secret compartment; the catch is a thorn in the woodwork."

Sydney backed up to open the drawer, gun still trained on him.  She opened it and picked up the small disk.  "No booby traps?  Thanks.  Pleasure doing business with you.  Well, not perhaps a pleasure until this moment." 

"Please, Ms. Bristow, do us both the favor of not lying to yourself.  You may have used your 'sex appeal' like a bludgeon-"

"Bludgeon!"  Sydney was offended.  "If I was so transparent, then why did you fall for it?"

"Because," he said patiently with his trademark smirk in place.  "Because I like you, Sydney Bristow."

"That's great.  You keep to those truth-telling ways; it'll make you very popular with the CIA officers assigned to interrogate you."

"That truth will be unvarnished, I warn you.  Do you want your precious handler to know what you've been up to these past few days?"

Her face was stony; Sark changed tactics.

"I know Irina is in CIA custody, Sydney.  She walked in, leaving me to do the outside work.  You trust your mother, don't you?  And if you arrest me, I can promise the only one who will benefit is Arvin Sloane."

"Why am I even still standing here," Sydney asked herself aloud.  "You're right, we do have my mother.  You'd be redundant and I don't believe I could stand another minute in your company.  I have plane to catch."

She turned to Sark.  "We're even now.  Don't tell Sloane who I really work for and I won't tell him about your attempted double-cross."

"Even," Sark rolled the word around in his mouth to see if he liked the taste.  "Nothing lost, nothing gained.  I'll live.  See you in the office tomorrow then?"

He looked remarkably composed for a half-naked man handcuffed to a bed.  She would have to make amends.

"Well, that depends," she said with a smile as she opened the bedroom door, "on if you can get yourself out in the next twenty minutes.  Dad isn't the only person I called; Ana's on her way.  Have fun explaining why you're tied up with my bra and be grateful I didn't take the towel.  Even though it was really more for my sake than yours.'

"Bye bye now."  Sydney waved merrily and shut the bedroom door.  Her smirk was huge; maybe she had picked something up from Sark but, hey, she was feeling pretty good.

There may have been a strong strut in her walk as she exited the safehouse; Sydney figured she earned it.  She'd been lying about Ana, but Sark didn't need to know that.  She had bested Ana; she had kicked Sark's butt; and she had successfully accomplished her mission.  

_Oh, yeah_, Sydney thought as she spun the disk in the air watching it turn in silvery circles before catching it in her other hand and sticking it in her pants' pocket with a certain triumphant flair._   I am a Spying Badass._    


	9. Epilogo

Epilogue  
  
Ana unlocked Sark's ankle from the bedpost, laughter dancing in her eyes. "I don't understand why you didn't call me earlier."  
  
He stretched his leg out experimentally and then nodded his thanks. "Because Sydney said she did."  
  
"Bristow lied. Didn't think she had it in her," she snorted. Ana chose not to point out that Sark had taken the threat on faith, instead gesturing to his bandaged wounds. "Although I see Saint Sydney put on her nurse's hat so her compassion is fully intact. Such a shame, she'd be so good if she could just get rid of that pesky morality."  
  
"She's already better than good," Sark defended the absent woman.  
  
"Do tell," Ana said sweetly. "If she's so good, why didn't she figure out this was a set-up?"  
  
"Mostly a set-up," Sark winced as he continued to stretch. "I did submit to your cruel attentions."  
  
"All part of the deal," Ana dismissed his complaints. "I was still angry about Kessar; working you was very therapeutic. Thank you for provoking Aimatov by the way. That brawl was just what I needed to assume complete control of K-Directorate."   
  
"Be content with your small sphere of influence and I will wish you all the joys of leadership," Sark shuddered. With a singular exception, he preferred to depend on himself. "Which reminds me, I need to have serious talk with one of your men about his ungentlemanly conduct."  
  
When Ana moved to the head of the bed to cut the bra, Sark stopped her. "I'd prefer that in one piece."  
  
"A souvenir? Interesting. How exactly did you come to be in this position, anyway? Sydney didn't seem amenable to the idea of touching you when I pushed her during our girl talk session." Ana confided as she began untying the knots.  
  
Sark's eyes went very dreamy. Then he blinked and refocused. "I've acquired evidence to the contrary. The disk was not exactly hidden. Had Sydney looked, she would have found it."  
  
Ana's grin was wolfish, "I refuse to believe you just handed it to her."  
  
"Why not? It's not as if I care what misfortune falls upon Gould." He shrugged off her insinuation.  
  
"You know I'm not asking about Gould."  
  
"I don't see why you have to ask at all."  
  
"Professional habit." Ana paused in her efforts. "I don't need to help you with this, you know. You're all tied up; we could have a lot of fun."  
  
Ana slid a manicured nail down his chest towards the towel. Sark kicked a leg up to push her off the bed.   
  
She landed gracefully on her feet and chuckled. "You were more fun before."  
  
Sark's look dared Ana to say when 'before' was.   
  
She managed to untie the last knot and handed the bra to Sark once he sat up and stretched.  
  
"Nice towel," she arched an eyebrow at him.  
  
Sark went to the dresser for clothing. "I'm burning it."  
  
"Don't do that," Ana said to him through the bathroom door as he changed. "I know. You should mail it to her."  
  
Sark poked his head out the door. "At the SD-6 office?"  
  
"In care of her father, perhaps?" Ana suggested. "I heard he works for them, too. Oh, that's good. I can have it wrapped for you. Big pink bow."  
  
"With a copy of the film?" Sark left the bathroom, fully dressed to Ana's disappointment.  
  
"Your beloved was critical; I believe her exact word was lame. Apparently you left out a significant element, the soundtrack."  
  
"Hmm, yes. Our relationship does merit a theme song. I shall have to compose one."  
  
Ana shook her head at the absurdity; the industry could be losing two valuable agents soon. Sark tended to get what he wanted. Any jealousy she felt for Sydney was easily pushed aside when she thought of the matter philosophically. With those two out the game, she would be without rival in the field. One step closer to taking down The Man; he would regret not hiring her. She encouraged Sark, "You are such a romantic fool."  
  
Sark pointed his gun at her. "There was a discretionary clause in the contract."  
  
"I remember," she said patiently. "Put your weapon down. Quit evading and give me the details."  
  
"Details? No, I think I'll keep those to myself."  
  
His eyes went dreamy again and Ana pushed down another small surge of envy. She could practically see the wheels turning as he planned their next encounter. Sydney Bristow had no idea how lucky she was; by hook or by crook, Sark would get his woman.  
  
THE END. 


End file.
